


Downpour

by jawsandbones



Series: Ficlits [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: There are differences between Tamlen and Zevran.--“Don’t you want to?” The first kiss was impulsive, a symptom of waiting far too long. Mahariel was never one for dancing around an issue. The attraction was there, the curiosity scratching, and his initial surprise turned into an enthusiastic return. Hunting trips suddenly had interludes, secret moments of stolen touch, exploratory and inquisitive.





	Downpour

The kiss is clumsy, shyer than it’s ever been. There’s nervousness in the tremble of his lips, tongue awkward, not fitting quite right. She puts hands over his eyes, pushes his face away. He waits patiently although he’s breathing hard, his hands in fists and pressed against the ground. His weight is so carefully held, care in the way he places himself. Hands move and he blinks blue, so bright above her, and she is wrapping her arms around him, pulling him down. “Are you sure we should do this?” He asks, twisting a strand of her hair between his fingers.

“Don’t you want to?” The first kiss was impulsive, a symptom of waiting far too long. Mahariel was never one for dancing around an issue. The attraction was there, the curiosity scratching, and his initial surprise turned into an enthusiastic return. Hunting trips suddenly had interludes, secret moments of stolen touch, exploratory and inquisitive. Then she had asked if he wanted _more_. So here they lie, a blanket spread beneath them, under a canopy of leaves and hidden by ruins. Tamlen looks almost offended by the question, his lips curling downward and the _vallaslin_ curling with it.

“Of course I want to,” he tells her.

“Then stop asking,” she says, dragging his hand to her breast. Clothes had already been hastily discarded, thrown over weapon and rock, cast aside in favor of skin against skin. He pushes himself up to his knees, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Her hands fall to the side, wind in the blanket. Gooseflesh follow the trail of his fingers, from breast to navel, a tentative brush at the soft curls of her cunt. Leaning back, his hands around her thighs, and her cheeks flush with sudden color.

“Don’t just stare,” she says to him, propping herself up on elbows to glare down at him. Feet press into grass and he ignores her, runs a finger through folds. Studying her intently, and she gasps at the first press against her clit.

“Does it hurt?” He looks up, startled. She shakes her head, bites her bottom lip. That thumb, just there, agonizing circles that make her toes curl. Fingers that dip into the growing wet, and finally she can see his cock beginning to stiffen. She resists the urge to laugh at the frown he wears – the way Tamlen looks at her cunt as though it is some problem to be solved, some fighting prey, the most challenging hunt. That urge disappears the moment his finger moves, slips inside.

Biting her bottom lip as he thrusts it in and out, “slower,” she says and he obliges. Testing a rhythm, looking upwards for her approval. She lies back completely, crosses her arms over her eyes. Focusing on what his fingers are doing, the way he cautiously adds another. “Good.” It’s a mumble, his other hand moving on her thigh, grasping at her hip. He’s moving his thumb in a slow circle on her hip, and she can’t tell if it’s on purpose. To her, it’s distinctly Tamlen, this comforting motion.

“I want to see your face,” he says. The laughter bubbles from her as she moves, pushes herself up to sit. She reaches between them, and his breath hitches when she touches the tip of his cock. It twitches under her finger, and she touches underneath the head, running her finger the full length of him. The groan is pulled out of him as she wraps her hand completely around him, begins to stroke. Forehead touches against forehead as they masturbate each other, small instructions whispered under heavy breath.

“I’m ready,” Mahariel says finally, tilting her face upwards to give him a quick kiss before she lies back down again. Raising her arms above her head and stretching like a cat, watching as his gaze travels the length of her body. Pulling at her hips, taking hold of his cock. He pushes unceremoniously at her, again and again, trying to find the entrance.

“ _Fenedhis lasa_ ,” he swears as his next attempt is met with more failure. She’s hopelessly giggling at his frustration, before she finally reaches down. Her hand over his, and she guides him properly. He closes his eyes as he buries himself inside to the hilt, his hands squeezing on her hips. He doesn’t move even as she trembles around him, his eyes opening as he feels her reaching for him. Pulling him down, wrapping arms around his neck.

“What does it feel like?” She asks.

“Warm.” His nose brushes against hers as he kisses her lightly. “It’s so – tight. What does it feel like for you?”

“Full,” she says, “good. You should move.” Another kiss before he finally does, pulling out agonizingly slowly, returning much the same. She runs her fingers through his hair, watching the way crimson colors the tips of his ears. His arms are slipping underneath her, his hands at her shoulders, holding her tight as he begins to move faster. Skin against skin, vulgar noises lost underneath the way he breathes, the smallest grunts and groans. His face is twisted up in pleasure, and she smiles as she watches him. Never once does she close her eyes. She wants to see all of him.

“ _Ir abelas lethallen_ , I don’t think I’ll be able to last,” he says. It’s as clumsy as the kiss. All awkward limbs and broken gasps. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, toes digging into grass. “Noya.” Her name ripped from his lips as he pounds against her, drawing free just in time, his seed spilling onto her belly.

“Sorry,” he says, struggling to regain his breath. She reaches upwards, touches his face.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she tells him.

* * *

She presses her hand against his chest, knees stained with dirt and grass, feet much the same. Rising up and back down, his hands tight around her hips. She keeps her eyes closed, focuses on the feeling of his cock inside her, the way he touches her. Warm and ever warmer, soft skin and practiced touch. Zevran flips them swiftly, an arm around her waist, until she is beneath him. He finds the rhythm easy, and her arms wrap around him. A hand threads through his hair, and she listens to him breathe. “Tam,” she murmurs. Squeezing tighter, “Tamlen,” and she can almost pretend it’s him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones!](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/) Cheers!


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